


Années Folles

by inlovewithnight



Category: The Great British Bake Off RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: Life in Paris is better with friends.
Relationships: David Atherton/Henry Bird/Michael Chakraverty
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Années Folles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nighimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/gifts).



> A 1920s expats in Paris AU, inspired by Roaring 20s week on their season of the show.
> 
> Thanks for requesting these three, Nighimpossible, they're just too charming.

Henry arrived early to the café, which was very typical. He hadn’t known his fellow escapees to Paris for long, but he already understood that Michael was somewhat easily distracted, and the route from his rooms to this table might bend and sway in unexpected ways. David was far more focused, and fond of planning to a degree that might be called ruthless, but he also worked for a physician, and the medical needs of his neighborhood inevitably did not run to schedule.

Henry didn’t mind, really. A few extra minutes to sit in the sun was nothing to be sneezed at. When fall came and it was sitting in the rain, well, then he would reevaluate, but for now—

“Hello!” Michael dropped into the chair next to his. “Sorry I’m late. Is David not here yet either? Why didn’t you go ahead and get yourself something, you don’t have to sit pining for us like a puppy, you know.”

Henry smiled through the bubbly race of words. “It’s fine, really. I was just about to get something, actually, really you were hardly late at all.” Actually he had expected Michael to be much later, but there was no call to be rude. There never was, with Michael; he was too good to ever want to bring hurt to his eyes.

“There’s a relief.” Michael heaved a great sigh and slumped over his knapsack for a moment, then stirred himself to sit it on the ground and shrug out of his jacket. “Well. Where’s your notebook, then, what are you working on today, let me see it.”

Henry laughed, one hand going swiftly to his own bag to clutch it close to his side. Not that Michael would take the notebook if Henry told him to stop, he wouldn’t ever, but Henry was _protective_ of his little collection of works. They were the hard-earned products of three months shut away in his aunt’s spare room, a genuine Parisian garret, almost certainly haunted, and he considered them a bit more precious than his more expendable body parts. An ear, maybe. Definitely either of his little fingers.

“Let’s have our coffee first,” he said, glancing down the street to see if David’s cycle could be seen making its way through the scattered occupants of the mid-afternoon street. “And sandwiches, don’t you think?”

Michael hummed thoughtfully, scrunching his nose to push his glasses up where they belonged. “Could do. Rather have something sweet.”

“Plenty of that to choose from, too.” Honestly the reason he’d started coming to this café in the first place was that the proprietor’s wife and daughter considered themselves not-quite-pâtissiers. Butter-sweet, breath-thin layers of pastry, piped and filled and swaddled up in frosting and five or six different types of crème—at half the price as in the proper pastry shops because they weren’t up to Parisian standards—well! He would never leave the place if he hadn’t met David and Michael. 

While they’re as dedicated to the food and drinks here as he is, they also love to drag him off on long walks and bicycle rides and explorations of the city that sent him back to Aunt Prue’s garret to fall in bed exhausted and sleep like he hadn’t since he was a child.

_You are a child_ , David would say if he could hear Henry’s mental monologue, but he would say it so bright and matter-of-fact that it wouldn’t bother Henry at all. David was indisputably the leader of their three; the most comfortable in his skin, the holder of a proper job in a proper line of work. Henry was a student on a rest year, pursuing poetry and prose while recovering his health, though how his health was supposed to recover in a sweaty garret populated by ghosts, he wasn’t entirely sure. Still, one didn’t argue with one’s parents when they and Aunt Prue were footing the bill.

As for Michael, he worked in a theater and served as a dance tutor to a pair of giggly Norwegian girls under the benevolent eye of yet another Paris-based spinster aunt. Those were a veritable industry, from what Henry could tell, all sweeping skirts and mysterious smiles at each other while he tried to make conversation at the afternoon teas he got trapped in if he didn’t leave the house fast enough.

David and his bicycle appeared at the corner while the two of them were still trying to sort out what to order, so the whole process was stalled while they greeted each other and exchanged claps on the shoulder. David leaned in for proper kisses on the cheek, as well; he had been here the longest, after all. 

“We were just about to order,” Henry said. “Your timing is perfect.”

“I’m talented in that way.” David smiled and settled into his chair. “And dying for a coffee. I’ve been run off my feet today.”

“The same for me.” Michael sighed and rested his chin in his hand. “I had to be at the theater first thing, then sneak out for the girls’ lesson, and after this I’m right back to the theater and there til midnight, I’m sure. We open to previews on Saturday—you'll both come, right? I’ll sneak you in the back way.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” David said promptly, which made Henry’s response a bit more awkward than he’d hoped for.

“Ah—what’s the show, again?” he asked. 

Michael turned his gaze to him, wide-eyed and earnest as ever. “It’s very avant-garde.”

“I was sure it must be.”

“It’s brand new. Written by one of the Americans, you know, I think we met him when I took you to that bar?” That evening had been a bit of a whirlwind, and Henry remembered absolutely nothing of it, but he nodded anyway. “So it’s very different, exciting, it’s got a great energy. I think you’ll love it, I really do. Please come?”

It was almost impossible to say no to Michael when he got into that entreating tone. From the smirk on David’s face, he was well aware of how helpless Henry was in the face of it. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it either. Was just curious about the plot, that’s all.”

“Oh!” Michael sat back in his seat, brow furrowing. “Well, I wouldn’t say there’s a _plot_ , so much. Avant-garde, as I said.” A slight pause. “Very avant-garde.”

“It sounds fantastic.” From the way David was raising his eyebrows, Henry was not doing well at selling this. Fortunately, just then the waitress came round. 

Coffee and a sandwich were a great relief to Henry’s constitution, not to mention a chance to reset the conversation. David happily tucked into some sort of savory pie or another, while Michael’s tarte tatin smelled wonderful enough to be distracting. 

While they ate, David told them about a man in his neighborhood who kept a red squirrel on a leash and walked it along the sidewalks. “It’s the most charming thing. His name’s Noel, he’s eccentric and a delight, he wears the most outlandish clothes, but he’s very kind and friendly. Always has a moment for a chat.”

“You should have us round for drinks at yours sometime,” Michael said. “With any luck we can meet him.”

Henry’s eyes widened—more than a bit bold, inviting them both over like that—but David seemed delighted at the idea. “Yes! We must. What about after the play on Saturday? Henry and I can wait at the stage door for you, and we’ll all go back to my flat. I’ll have Nik be ready to cook up a midnight snack, and we’ll all properly get to know each other.”

Henry couldn’t imagine why a simple statement like that would make Michael grin quite _that_ way—but it was settled, at any rate. They had plans for Saturday, with David’s flatmate Nik whom Henry had never met before and hopefully would not utterly humiliate himself in front of. Wonderful.

**

It was fortunate they did because otherwise Henry was likely to have lost the whole day to sulking around Aunt Prue’s place. His most recent poem was stubbornly refusing to come together; he spilled ink on his favorite shirt and ruined the whole bloody thing; he tripped over one of the annoying little dogs that one of Aunt Prue’s wealthy, irritating friends brought with him when he came to call and bruised his knee.

The caller, an imperious and borderline rude keeper of far too many small dogs and possessor of ice-blue eyes that made Henry want to either flinch or say the most obnoxious things he could think of, was very put out by the whole thing.

“You might have hurt her,” he said, cuddling the little monster to his chest. “Really, Prue, the boy should take more care.”

“Please be careful, Henry.” Aunt Prue smiled at them both, shaking her head fondly. “And Paul, you should keep them on leashes instead of letting them run wild. A lesson to be learned on both sides.”

Henry, desiring to nurse his bad knee and avoid picking a fight more than he desired tea, cakes, and excruciating conversation, excused himself and fled back to the garret. Fortunately he had a few hours left before he needed to be at the theater; plenty of time to sulk, nap, apply arnica, and get a new shirt ironed. 

When he got dressed to go out, he found himself lingering over his ties, finally choosing one that Michael had expressed a preference for on one of their café afternoons. Likely Michael wouldn’t remember or notice tonight, but it seemed like a nice, small gesture Henry could make for his friend. He tied it carefully, squaring the knot neatly on his throat, and took a moment to check himself in the mirror. Tie: quite good. Hair: quite untidy. Well, he could put that off for another minute.

When he turned to his jackets, he found himself gravitating toward one that David had admired on another day. It was a bit older and of a rusty black fabric that Henry associated with his school days, but as he recalled, David had said that it fit him a treat and did wonders for his shoulders. And again, there was really no reason to choose that jacket over any of the others, but it might earn him a smile from David before the show or on their walk back to David’s flat, and—well, why not? No reason at all.

He slipped into it, buttoned it up, and faced himself in the mirror again. Tie and jacket: _quite_ good, but hair: likely hopeless. Still, he took his jar of pomade and did his best with it. Slicking it back into the equivalent of an aeroplane pilot’s helmet at least kept it tidy.

With a final look over himself and a dissatisfied sigh, he left his room, tapped on Aunt Prue’s sitting-room door and let her know he was going out, and made his way out into Paris. 

The theater where Michael worked was a shoestring operation, hanging on solely thanks to a wealthy patron from the avant-garde set who enjoyed lavishing the final shreds of old family money on projects like this. The façade was painted a questionable shade of green and the lobby an equally questionable yellow, but the theater itself was clean, tiny, and shabby. David was already there, standing in one of the aisles, and waved to Henry when he saw him hesitating at the doorway.

“Hello there,” he said when Henry joined him, pulling him into a hug and dropping air-kisses on each cheek. “I ran into Michael when I got here, and he told me where to sit. Right up in the third row, if you can believe it. We’ll be able to see every seam in the costumes.”

“Oh, brilliant.” Henry nodded a few times, looking around the space. “It’s small, isn’t it?”

“Mm. Michael prefers ‘cozy,’ I believe.” David smiled beatifically. “Here, let’s sit down, you can tell me what you’ve been up to since the last time I saw you.”

There wasn’t much to tell—a failed poem and the incident with the dog—but David always listened like whatever Henry was saying was genuinely interesting to him. He was kind like that; in fact, David and Michael between them were probably the two kindest people Henry had met in his sojourn in Paris. He was really quite grateful to know them both. 

He couldn’t possibly say that aloud, though, especially not here in the worn velvet seats of a child-sized theater, so instead he asked David about his own week and tried to listen just as attentively.

The play began without much fanfare, cutting David off in the middle of another story about the odd man in his neighborhood, the one with the pet squirrel. It was, indeed, extremely avant-garde, so much so that Henry couldn’t have explained the plot or theme of it if he’d been paid to. 

Still, when Michael found them after the show, he was able to summon some genuine compliments. “The woman who juggled the batons; she was fantastic. And the costumes! Did you work on those? They were stunning, Michael, really.”

Michael beamed, cheeks rosy with delight. “I did! Costumes, the set, and the rhino that came in in the third act, what did you think of that? I came up with the dancing effect and sorted it out, and it took a number of late nights, let me tell you.”

“Brilliant,” David said sincerely, and Henry nodded along. “It was all simply brilliant, and we’re so proud of you.”

Michael threw his arms around David in a cheerful embrace, then turned and caught Henry up as well. His friend’s exuberance, and the blasé attitude that Paris took toward displays of touch and affection, still sent a shock and thrill through Henry every time. It was lovely, really, just lovely, and he muttered that as best he could around his own well-ingrained reticence as he patted Michael on the back.

“It’s a bit of a walk back to mine, but I think it will do us good,” David said. “We’ll arrive with a healthy appetite. I baked some things this afternoon, and Nik has been full of plans for dinner.”

“I’m sure it will be wonderful.” Henry stepped back and let the two of them lead the way down the street. “I hope Nik isn’t too put out at having to cook for two more.”

“Oh, no, he’s thrilled. He’s been looking forward to meeting you both, too. I’ve told him all kinds of stories.”

Michael laughed. “Only good ones, I hope, or we’ll have to balance them out with all sorts of scandalous things about you.”

David smiled peacefully. “You don’t _know_ any scandalous things about me.”

“I can make some guesses.” Michael’s voice was absolutely gleeful, and he must have included some hint of meaning that Henry didn’t understand because David started laughing, too.

Before Henry had a chance to start feeling left out, though, Michael turned and reached for his arm, pulling him up between himself and David. “Don’t tag along behind us, come on, walk up here.” He linked his elbow through Henry’s, and David did the same on the other side, putting the three of them in loose lockstep as they made their way down the streets of Paris. 

David’s neighborhood was pretty and quiet, with the building housing his flat standing on a corner across from a small park. David ushered Michael and Henry up the stairs to the top floor, then rapped lightly on the door before he unlocked it. “Nik, I’ve brought the stray kittens home for a bite.”

Michael swatted at David’s arm. “Kittens, really?”

“Would you prefer stray tomcats?” David closed the door behind them and drifted across the little flat to the kitchenette where a tall man stood at the stove, offering the visitors a shy smile. 

“Hello,” Nik said, waving the hand that wasn’t holding a spoon to a pot. “It’s very nice to meet you both.”

“Michael and Henry,” David said with a negligent wave. “You’ll figure out which is which soon enough. Hello, love,” and he kissed Nik on the mouth, quite properly.

Henry blinked, realizing that he had likely missed any number of hints and cues over the period of their friendship, all of which needed to be put in place now, quickly, before David and Nik looked at him again.

Michael’s hand brushed lightly against his wrist, and Henry looked at him, trying to school his eyebrows into a calm expression. Michael himself looked a bit anxious, studying Henry’s face until Henry offered him a smile.

Michael returned the smile, a bit hesitantly, and tapped Henry’s wrist again before turning away. “Right, David, where’s the liquor? We’re celebrating the show, after all!”

David waved them toward a row of bottles on top of a battered table by the window. “Glasses are beneath,” he said. “Help yourselves, we’ll get this finished up and served.”

Michael pulled Henry over to the table with him, fingers wrapped tight and warm around his wrist. “So you hadn’t put it together, then?” he asked softly. “I should’ve asked and been sure you were clear. Not a problem, is it? You’ve been in Paris long enough that it ought not to be, I would think?”

“Of course it’s not a problem.” Henry bent to grab four glasses and lined them up in front of the bottles. “I was just thrown for a moment, that’s all.” He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured for himself, then added just a dash of water on top. “D’you want this or something else?”

Michael was looking at him closely, his mouth in an unhappy twist that Henry hated to see. Michael ought never look like that. “You do know—I mean, me as well, though, Henry. Don’t you?”

It took Henry a moment to parse that, unraveling the sentence back to its component words and sussing them out in his head. “Oh! Well. I. I suppose, now that you say so.” No, not really, he’d had no idea. He was, apparently, the least observant man in Paris. “But that’s not a problem either! Really, Michael. I swear.”

Michael took one of the glasses and poured in a healthy amount of whiskey, still looking deeply unhappy. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. I’m entirely sure.” Henry put his glass down, pointedly _before_ taking a drink, and leaned in to kiss Michael’s cheek. “Please don’t worry yourself at all about it.”

Michael relaxed a bit, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he picked up his drink. “All right, then, I suppose.”

David and Nik were watching them from the kitchenette area, Henry realized, and he lifted his own glass toward them in a vague toast. “What can we make for the two of you?” 

“Oh, I’ll be over in a minute to take care of it.” David favored him with one of his small, peaceful smiles. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. That sofa there creaks terribly, but it won’t collapse under you, or at least it hasn’t yet.”

Henry and Michael settled themselves on the ominously creaky thing and attended to their whiskeys, watered and neat respectively, while David mixed himself and Nik some elaborate multi-liquored concoctions and Nik continued to work quietly at the stove. Henry cast about wildly, trying to think of some sort of topic of conversation that could breach the tension in the air without sending them veering off the metaphorical ledges of, say, politics or religion.

“Have any of you,” he said finally, “come across any good records lately? I heard the shops all have new things in from America, but I haven’t had time to listen.”

Michael visibly brightened. “Records, no, but there’s a jazz quartet playing at one of the clubs near the theater, and they’re just wonderful. If we have another night out, we should go there. They’re playing every night of the week right now, I think. Well, except when the club is dark, that’s Mondays and Tuesdays, but otherwise—”

“Of course we’ll have another night out.” Henry tried to sound firm but light and missed it by a bit, instead just blurting the words out rather loudly. “Absolutely. You name the night. God knows I’ve nothing else to do.”

“Thursday,” David said from the table, where he was laying out plates and cutlery. “I’m not working on Friday, so we can make a night of it.” He paused and raised his eyebrows. “That is, if I’m invited?”

“Of course you are,” Michael said before Henry could say the exact same thing. “Don’t be absurd.” Michael was smiling again, his body relaxed, and that let Henry relax, too, and toss back the rest of his drink. He never wanted Michael to be upset, especially not because of _him_. He would check his own stupidity and awkwardness a thousand times to keep it from hurting Michael. 

Oddly, though he knew he might well have hurt David, too, with his confusion, that didn’t trouble him as much. David, he knew on some mysterious cellular level, could bear any sort of hurt that Henry was capable of, and then brush it aside as needed. Michael might not be able to, and therefore, Henry’s care must be oriented toward him, while his awkward stupidity could veer toward David like a careening wheelbarrow, which David would lightly evade.

Clearly, he needed more whiskey if he was still capable of such convoluted metaphors. He rose to his feet and plucked the empty glass from Michael’s fingers. “The same again?”

**

By the end of the evening, the three of them were curled on the couch together, quite drunk, while Nik had taken himself off to bed well before. Henry thought that was _terribly_ clever of him and wanted to be sure that David knew as much.

“I _admire_ him, David, really I do. Going to bed at a sensible hour. And still sober, I think! Wasn’t he? Don’t you think so, Michael?”

“Mm, absolutely.” Michael had his head resting on Henry’s shoulder, his face tucked in close to Henry’s neck. It made his words, carried on warm huffs of breath, tickle terribly. “He’s a clever one, David.”

“Maybe David’s the clever one.” Henry wiggled a little, trying to get a better view of David without dislodging Michael. “For finding him, you know, and being able to keep him around.”

David was smiling broadly, his typical reserve broken up by the alcohol. “Henry, you flirt.” 

“I’m not flirting! I’m just— _saying_. That you did well, finding him.”

“He told me he liked you both very much, too.” David smoothed Henry’s hair back from his forehead, then patted the top of Michael’s head. “You’re welcome to come round any time, though he can’t promise to cook, and you’ll need to contribute to the liquor collection next time, as we’ve gone through a lot of it tonight.”

“More than fair.” Henry nodded seriously, earning a displeased noise from Michael as he jostled him. “Oh, sorry.”

“Owe me a kiss to make it better,” Michael said, turning his face up toward him.

David clicked his tongue. “Behave.”

“No, no.” Henry found he couldn’t quite look away from Michael’s eyes, even though the angle threatened to put a crick in his neck. They were really very lovely eyes. Captivating, in their way. “It’s all right, I think.”

“Mm?” David sounded almost startled, but Henry still couldn’t tear his gaze away to check. “Oh, well, in that case, then. Don’t hold yourself back on my account.”

And—well, yes. Why not? Henry couldn’t think of a single blessed reason. So he risked an even bigger crick in his neck to lean down and kiss Michael properly on the mouth.

It was quite nice, actually. He took a beat to consider it, found that he had no regrets, and did it again.

When he pulled back from the second kiss, Michael was clinging to his shirtfront, beaming delightedly. “Was that all right?” Henry asked him, suddenly recalling his manners. He should have asked before, between the first and second kisses, really. 

“Absolutely,” Michael said. “Mind if I return the favor?” 

Henry nodded, distracted again by Michael’s eyes, and Michael popped up to take a better angle and kiss him hard, pushing him back against David’s shoulder. Henry tried to catch himself and turn so he wasn’t bothering David, but David’s arm snaked quickly around his torso, holding him in place instead. 

“It’s all right,” David murmured in his ear, warm and reassuring. “You’re no bother, and it’s a lovely view.”

Flattering, but still a bit awkward. Henry did his best to rise to the occasion anyway, settling more comfortably against David and letting Michael squirm around until he was straddling one of Henry’s thighs on the couch.

It was easy to get lost in the feel of kissing Michael. They were both loose and relaxed with exhaustion and alcohol, and their mouths tasted of the hours of drinking. Henry closed his eyes and gave himself over to the raw feelings of it: David’s arms around him, Michael’s hands on his chest and shoulder, steadying and holding his body close without letting his weight fall on Henry, the warm smooth slide of Michael’s lips and tongue. 

There’s a steady flow of sound, too—David murmuring his thoughts on how lovely they are—but Henry lacks the capacity to decipher that, his mind far too occupied with touch. He does make his own rough, abrupt sound of protest when Michael breaks off kissing and lifts his head to look at David, though.

“You can join in if you’d like, you know,” Michael said, and Henry’s mind promptly went blank.

David laughed, the sound rumbling low in his chest and through Henry’s back. “Greedy, aren’t you?”

“Just _hopeful_ ,” Michael huffed, and then he leaned in more heavily against Henry to kiss David over his shoulder. David arched up under Henry’s weight, ensuring he was squished thoroughly between their two bodies, and he closed his eyes, wondering how long this would last before they both remembered he was there and, he could only assume, asked him to leave the apartment.

Instead, Michael turned his head again to nuzzle against Henry’s neck. “We need more room,” he complained. “This couch is awful.”

“Well, we can’t wake Nik up,” David said. “Poor dear is exhausted.”

“Wouldn’t he, ah.” Henry cleared his throat, searching for the appropriate words through a fog of alcohol and utter confusion about what road in his life had led him here. He wasn’t _complaining_ , mind, he had no regrets, but—it was certainly not what he had expected from tonight. “Wouldn’t he object to... all this?”

“Hm? No, not at all.” David sighed, a warm rush of breath ruffling Henry’s hair. “It’s the nineteen-twenties, Henry, don’t be so old-fashioned about things.”

“Well, nobody gave me a set of instructions for this, you know!”

“Follow your instincts, then.” It was David’s turn to kiss Henry’s neck then, and the new sensation, coming from behind as it did, made him shudder all over, his body bucking off the couch.

Michael made a displeased noise and sat up. “Well if we can’t use the bed, and the couch is impossible, we’ll have to move to the floor, then.”

“Bossy,” Henry said, just as Michael caught him by the wrists and dragged him bodily off the couch. “Oof!”

“You’ll thank me once we’re all down here.” Michael turned back to David, offering both hands. “Come on, then.”

“He’s right, you are bossy.” David slid off the couch and collapsed dramatically on his back on the rug, arms and legs akimbo. “Well, one of you has to come over here and put me right again.”

“No, you come over to us.” Michael sat down next to Henry and patted at the floor beside him. “You can manage it. Get over here.”

David sighed and turned onto his hands and knees, crawling across to them with artful grace. “You’re terrible,” he said. “Make it up to me.”

Michael pulled him into his lap and proceeded to kiss him thoroughly, so much so that Henry wondered if perhaps he should excuse himself and leave them with a bit of privacy. As if sensing that, Michael’s hand snaked out and caught him by the wrist, keeping him nearby until they broke off the kiss, took a few deep gulps of air, and both turned to look at Henry with the eyes of satisfied but still prowling housecats.

“Ah,” Henry said. “What should I...”

“Nothing, darling,” David said, at the same time as Michael said, “Just relax.” Henry combined the two in their simplest forms and gave himself up in surrender.

**

Henry was quite sure that he was going to be left sitting alone and foolish outside the café. Of course Michael and David wouldn’t want anything to do with him after the night at David’s flat—he had proven himself to be inexperienced and naïve and foolish, not at all at the same point of urbanity and wisdom as either of them, and really it was for the _best_ if they didn’t show up since the other option would be them coming by just to laugh at him, buy pastries, and swan off together for a far more interesting afternoon.

“Hello, Henry!” came a bright voice from behind him, and he nearly toppled his coffee as he turned to find Michael hurrying up from the street, a broad smile on his face. “How are you always so early? What’s the trick to it?”

“I have to get away from my aunt’s friends before I lose my mind,” Henry said, reaching out automatically to clasp Michael’s hand in greeting. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming today.”

“Oh? Why wouldn’t I be?” Michael cocked his head in puzzlement, then seemed to brush the question off, settling himself in one of the empty chairs at the table and shrugging out of his jacket. “Anyway, I went by the jazz club to scout it out, and it’s perfect, we’ll have a fine time. There’s a little rooming house right across the street if we can’t manage the walk home after, we can just all chip in for a bed and sleep it off.”

Henry blinked a few times, trying desperately to veer his mind from its prior path to whatever one Michael was traveling. It was not a success, and he finally managed a vague, “Ah, good,” just as David rolled his bicycle to a stop at tableside.

“Here we are, gents,” he said, dismounting and giving them both air-kisses before dropping into the remaining chair. “I was absolutely cornered by the squirrel man this morning, and learned at least half a dozen stories about him. Amazing things. I don’t even know where to begin. But we’re all to go to tea at his on Sunday, so I hope neither of you had other plans because I’m not going alone. I wouldn’t have any proof that any of it happened, that way. Now. What are we ordering, and can we get two of all of them, because I’m just starving.”

David’s knee bumped against Henry’s thigh under the table; on his other side, Michael’s foot was hooked loosely around Henry’s ankle. Henry realized with a bit of a start that, in fact, they were both happy to see him, happy to be here with him. Michael’s notion of all three sharing a bed after the jazz show was almost certainly entirely sincere. There were a great many hopes, joys, and opportunities spiraling out ahead of him, and he had no reason whatsoever to turn any of them down.

He picked up his coffee cup and cradled it in his hands, hiding a smile behind it. What an amazing thing.


End file.
